A dragonqueen and a shewolf
by IaMcHrIsSi
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen wants to take back the iron throne. But she needs help. She needs Arya Stark.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I finally remembered that I started this story an eternity ago and never wrote anything but this prologue. And then I read the prologue again and realized that now that I've read the books it just doesn't seem fitting anymore, so I rewrote it. It isn't connected to Memories anymore, but I hope you like it.**

**And, before I forget, like I said, I read the books, so expect spoilers!**

* * *

She could smell the salt.

Daenerys had always loved the sea. It made her feel so, well, free. As if there was nothing in her way, as if she was not the kKhaleesi, as if she was just a girl that could live her life like she wanted. But she knew she was not.

Dany was the mother of the dragons, the last living Targaryen and the rightful queen of Westeros. And right now, she was at the beach, staring into the sea in front of her. Behind her was her khalasar as well as her army of Unsullied, her people. They looked up to her. To them, she was the queen, the khaleesi. They didn't see her as a person, they saw her as a leader, a symbol.

It were moments like this when she missed Jorah the most. Jorah had been a traitor, yes, and he had been in love with her even though he shouldn't have, but he had also been the only one who ever dared to look behind the facade. Jorah had betrayed her, but he had also seen her when she was at her lowest and had never thought any less of her because of that. She missed him, missed the way he would put his hand on her shoulder to show her that she was not alone, that he was there and that he would protect her and do anything for her.

But Jorah wasn't here. He had been traitor, sold her to the usurper Robert Baratheon, and even though it had pained Dany, she had known that she would never be able to forgive him. She would never be able to trust him anymore, not fully, not like she did before she found out. And with this knowledge, she had sent him away. There was no place for traitors at her side.

"Your Grace, you wanted us to come together to discuss the attack." Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, said.

He wasn't tall, but he was clever. Dany had made him her hand, because she knew he was the best for this position. He knew how to play the game of thrones, and even though in his first try he lost it, he was still alive, something that couldn't be said about many other men.

Dany closed her eyes, felt the wind in her hair and relaxed a bit. Then she turned around and followed Tyrion into her tent.

Her council was already waiting. She looked at each member of this group: Grey Worm, one of her bloodriders, Furem, a braavosi master of the sword, Jorel, a former slave who was a strategical genius, Ferm, one of her Unsullied, Masyn, a young lady from Westeros whose father had been a loyal bannerman of Robb Stark and who had to flee after the Red Wedding and of course Tyrion.

"We were just discussing a minor issue." Ferm said.

"I don't think it's a 'minor issue'." Masyn said. "Actually, I think it might be quite important. If you allow me, your grace..."

"Of course, speak."

"The people of Westeros just survived a civil war. The last thing they want is to start another. They aren't happy with that Tyrell-marionette Thommen Lannister on the throne, but at least they have now peace. They have time to look around, gather up the broken things and try to heal. And, it's nothing against you, your grace, but to be true, they don't remember the last Targaryen king very fondly. The mad king they call him. He killed many good people, your grace, and even though we here know your not crazy the smallfolk of Westeros doesn't. Those people will see you as a female Aerys Targaryen, nothing more. You have to show them that this country will fare better under your rule or it will be extremely difficult to rule it, my queen."

Dany thought about that. Of course Masyn was right. The times when she believed what her brother had told her, that the people of Westeros were just waiting for their return, were over. She wasn't that stupid anymore.

"So we will have to make sure word of your crusade against slavery reaches their ears. There is nothing the smallfolk loves more than tales about powerful people standing up for the weak. We have to make sure they realize that you are a good queen, your graze." Jorel said.

"I still have one or the other spy in Westeros. I could make sure they tell stories about your victories, your grace." Tyrion inquired from her left.

"Then do that. We will need every support we can get." Dany answered.

"There are stories, your grace. Stories about White Walkers. They say they are trying to climb the wall. You can't rule a country run over by the White Walkers." Furem said.

"Then I'll take the North first and Kingslanding later." Dany decided.

"My queen, you can't conquer the North. That is impossible. Maybe those people will surrender to your dragons and your army, but the North remembers. The northern will never truly serve someone who is not a Stark or at least a Stark loyal. They will never accept you as their queen, not after they had a king on their own in Robb Stark. You can't just take the North." Masyn said.

"Well, Masyn, the Starks are dead. The last Stark to die was my lovely wife Sansa. To the ones of you who don't know: After my nephew was murdered, she disappeared. I have no doubt that my sister has finally gone completely mad and murdered her. And every other Stark, Robb, Arya, Brandon and Rickon... they all died in the war of five kings." Tyrion told them.

"Are you so sure? Princess Arya just disappeared after her father was captured. We all know the story of that imposter who had to marry Ramsay Snow, but in the end, Arya Stark is still missing. The people love her story, you know. The Missing Princess, they call her, or the Lost Wolf. Many people believe she is still out there, waiting for her chance to take back what is hers." Masyn explained.

"She's a ghost, probably long dead. And even if she wasn't: Why should we work with somebody who doesn't fully agree with our queens claim for the throne? Because if she wants to 'take back what is hers', that means that she will want independence for the North. That is not exactly what we want, is it?" Jorel asked.

"Because the people all over Westeros love the Starks. My sister and nephew may have called Ned Stark a traitor, but the smallfolk never believed that. The Starks were people of honor. That's how Westeros remembers them. It will be a lot easier to conquer that country with a Stark at your side, your grace." Tyrion said quietly.

"We don't even know where she is, and even if, not when, we find her, it's anything but granted that she joins us." Ferm said.

"Still, I think it's worth it. I'll go to search her." Furem said with a certain finality in his voice.

Dany thought for a moment, than she nodded slowly.

"Good. Find her for me. And then I shall take my throne."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: For those of you who haven't noticed: I rewrote the first chapter, so you should read it again =)**

* * *

The light was dim, the fire warm and the music loud. Willom loved this place, because it was everything his home was not. This place was so full of life, full of passion, while his own house was gray and stiff. His wife Morea was always sick, his children were little idiots who didn't seem to be able to do one thing right and who to all ill also never said a word until he threatened or beat them. Why couldn't his children be like the children he saw on the street, the children that played, were loud, children that laughed and talked. He shook his head. He definitively liked this place better.

Willom was sitting in a brothel. He was a merchant, a clever and rich man searching for distraction from his boring wife. He had build himself a life from nothing, and now he thought that he deserved some things in life. This brothel was one of them. It wasn't very expensive, it was more like the places he used to be at when he was young: Dirty, illegal, loud. He loved it.

Willom ordered a beer and wanted to ask for his usual whore, a dornish woman named Crea, when suddenly a beautiful young woman walked towards him. She had curly golden hair and her eyes shone green, and her dress hugged her body just so he could see her perfect curves. The merchant stared shamelessly, what seemed to amuse the woman.

"Mylord, my name is Shanta. Crea is sadly ill today, she asked me to entertain you for the night." She said with a raspy voice.

The merchant started to smile. It was not everyday that he met such a beautiful woman, and certainly not everyday that such a woman offered to … entertain him. Sure, Crea was pretty, but she was nothing compared to this woman.

"Oh, I think you will do as well. And I am no lord, just a merchant."

"Every man I bed is a lord." Shanta said smiling. There was something mysterious about her eyes that fascinated the Willom. Something... strange, maybe even something dangerous. Willom liked to say that he loved the danger.

He didn't think to much about what she said. Every man liked to be called a lord, and the whores had strange habits in this city. He once met one, the sailors wife they called her, who had married every man she had bedded to make sure none of her potential children was a bastard.

"Will you follow me?" Shanta asked and Willom did so willingly. She let him to his usual room. He was a regular visitor and rich enough that the people who lead this brothel did everything he wanted. He looked around and found everything just as usual, but somehow something seemed off.

He only saw the knife when it slit his throat.

* * *

Cat saw the life leave the eyes of the shocked merchant. He had been stupid. Most men acted stupid when confronted with a beautiful woman. A man would do anything for a pretty face. Stupid.

Quickly, she took of her gown. Under it, she wore black trousers and a black vest. Under the bed stood her good boots. She put on the hood that was attached to the vest and climbed outside the window. She knew exactly were to stand and were to hold, she had used this brothel a few times already. Of course, she had also spent three days figuring out the merchants habits. Than she had put a bit moonflower in Creas tea. The woman wouldn't die from it, but fall sick for a few days. The perfect opportunity to strike.

As soon as Cat reached the ground, she tore of the face she had worn. The face was beautiful, and it was remarkable. Right now, she just wanted back to the House of Black and White. She didn't want anyone to notice her.

Quickly, she walked through the canals she knew so well. She knew every street, every brothel, every house of Braavos. While she walked, she saw cats. They were following her, looking at her, just so nobody else would notice. But Cat always did. The cats were her friends. She smiled at them. Long ago she had realized that she could somehow go into them. It kind of scared her and she didn't try often, but the cats seemed to know. They seemed to like her.

She arrived at the House of Black and White only a few minutes after she had left the brothel. It would take at least until the next morning that someone started looking for the foolish merchant. It made her smile to know she did good.

The kindly man greeted her on the way to her room.

"Valar Morghulis, woman. Is it done?" He asked.

"Valar Dohaeris, master. Yes, a woman delivered the gift." Cat put on her mask. It was not a mask like the faces she wore, it was more like a mental mask. One of the first thing she learned here was to lie. One day, she became so good that even the kindly man couldn't tell if she lied, and she used that to her favor. She had realized long ago that she wasn't 'no one'. She was someone. She was Cat. Not no one. But the kindly man didn't need to know that.

"Did a woman have any problems?" The kindly man asked.

"No, master. There were no difficulties." She answered and went to her room.

The room was like every room in this house. There was a bed, a desk with a chair and a few clothes. Nothing else. The whole room seemed empty, because there was nothing that told anything about the person who lived here.

Cat closed her eyes. She concetrated on what she heard. There were several people in the house, but nobody was moving towards her room. Good.

She sat down on the floor and tore away a part of the wall. Behind it there was a small space that was filled with everything she held dear. A faceless man or woman shouldn't have any personal items, but Cat... well Cat did. Slowly, carefully, she took the things out. A coin from her first assassination. A piece of silk that had once belonged to a wonderful dress. It had been grey and white, and she had worn it when she was sent to kill a Bolton loyalist. Afterwards, it had been her job to destroy, speak: burn it. But she hadn't been able to resist keeping a bit of it. And, of course, a childs sword. Needle. She took it in her hand and looked at it for a long while.

Whenever she held this sword, Cat seemed to disappear. Whenever she had this sword in hands, she was Arya. Arya of House Stark, Princess of Winterfell. Waiting for her chance to avenge her family and take back what was hers.


End file.
